


Chiffon

by DoctorBilly



Series: Rouge et Noir [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of a series of little vignettes with a common theme. You'll deduce the nature of the theme pretty soon.  This one centres on two of my OCs. There are unashamed references to fashion. </p><p>Inspiration pic <a href="http://doctor-billy.tumblr.com/post/125667437723/ocs-niamh-fairley-and-micky-jay">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"There's another one over here!"

Niamh turns at the uniformed officer's shout. She pushes through the inevitable crowd of gawkers, leaving the uniforms to start processing witnesses. The second victim is huddled against the wall of the club, blood and vomit streaked down her front, bare legs streaked with what is obviously urine.

"No wounds, DC Fairley. The blood's not hers."

The girl is sobbing noisily. Her sniffs can't contain the watery snot that bubbles from her nose. Niamh kneels next to her. She is shivering in her thin clothing, her t-shirt, white heels and party skirt no match for an early December night.

"What's your name, love?"

The girl lifts her face, looks directly at Niamh.

"Oh, shit. Colleen, no…"

 

*********

 

"We're releasing her. She clearly hasn't done anything, beyond having questionable taste in boyfriends."

"She's _fourteen_ , for gods sake. I didn't even know she _had_ a boyfriend." Niamh sniffs. "What's our mam going to say? Fourteen and a lowlife boyfriend. And she's drunk. And she's wearing _my_ skirt…"

Sally Donovan smiles.

"I never had brothers or sisters. I always thought the kids who did have them were lucky. Always had a friend…"

"We're not friends. She hates me. They all hate me. I remind my mam of my dad every time she looks at me. My brothers hate that I'm a copper. They're ashamed of me. And now this…"

Sally pats her shoulder gently.

"Maybe this will give her a bit of a wake-up call."

"We have to inform social services, don't we? Shes underage, drinking…. " Niamh sighs. "Mam'll go _spare_."

 

*********

 

Micky Jay is woken by hammering on his front door. He falls out of bed in his hurry to shut whoever-it-is up before the neighbours start complaining, and opens the door to a scowling Niamh Fairley. He looks around quickly, takes in the suitcase bungee-corded to the back of Niamh's motorcycle.

"Going on your holidays?"

"Don't be a smart-arse, Mick. Can I sleep on your settee for a couple of nights? Just till I get something sorted…"

Micky grins. "I can do better than that. You can have the hammock. Or take the bed and I'll sleep in the hammock. Or…"

"Or?"

Niamh arches an eyebrow. Micky flushes.

"Or _I'll_ sleep on the settee."

Niamh grins. "Yes. You will. Can I come in then?"

Micky holds the door while Niamh locks up her sleek, black Triumph Speedmaster motorcycle in the secure holding bay that has, in its time, held Billy Wiggins's Kawasaki and Arkady Yegorov's old Harley Davidson. He acts the gentleman, takes the suitcase from her as she slithers down the gangway on her boot studs. Uncharacteristically, she lets him. Inside, she takes off her crash helmet and shakes out her hair. She doesn't fail to notice Micky's admiring glance.

"Coffee?"

Niamh nods.

"Please. Two sugars. Can I use the bathroom?"

Micky waves an arm vaguely in the direction of the stern of the boat.

"Through the bedroom, furthest door along."

 

*********

 

"Coffee's going to get cold. You all right?"

Niamh looks up from where she is sitting on the edge of Micky's bed.

"I'm okay. Is that what you'll be wearing?"

She flicks her chin up at a jacket hanging on the outside of one of the cupboards. It is a short dinner-jacket, single button, black lapels. The fabric of the jacket is a large windowpane check, black on dark red. Micky grins.

"Yeah. Great, isn't it? Charity shop. Only a fiver. Going to wear it with skinny black trousers and winklepickers."

"White shirt?"

Micky nods

"And a black bow tie. I'm all set. What are you wearing?"

"I don't think I'm going to go."

Micky frowns.

"You've got to. I though maybe we could go together…"

Niamh bursts into tears. Micky is aghast. He sits beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders.

"Is the idea of being on my arm that bad?"

Niamh laughs, wetly. Then starts to hiccough.

"No. _Eejit_."

"What then?"

"I went the opposite way to you. I fell in love with a designer skirt. I kept going back to look at it. For weeks. Then I got up the courage to go in and try it on." She laughs. "Those sales assistants are so _snooty_. Tried to make me feel as if I didn't belong there. I bought it to spite them. Two months' pay…"

Micky whistles through his teeth.

"What's it made of? Cloth of gold?"

Niamh huffs out a laugh.

"Red flowery chiffon. Ah, it was beautiful, Mick."

"Was?"

Niamh gets up and goes out to the main room. She opens her suitcase, pulls out a crumpled Tesco carrier bag, tips the sorry, soggy contents out onto the floor.

"My little sister has a habit of borrowing my clothes. She took this without asking, and wore it to a nightclub last night. Where she proceeded to get every possible bodily fluid plus pineapple Malibu all over it. And a cigarette burn. It's ruined. And I never even got to wear it."

Micky tuts sympathetically.

"There's a seamstress works above the dry cleaners in Chapel Street. She altered my jacket to make it fit better on the shoulders." He flexes them for emphasis. "She reckons she can repair anything."

"She won't repair this." Niamh shoves the ruined skirt back into the bag, looks around for a kitchen bin, drops the bag in it. "There. Maybe I'll wear my leathers and sit at the back."

Micky grins.

"I like you in your leathers." 


	2. Chapter 2

" _Ever fallen in love with someone, ever fallen in love, in love with someone…_ "

Sally Donovan wrinkles her nose, grins.

"It's about time they put some new tunes on that jukebox. This used to be one of Greg's favourites."

"Greg, ma'am?"

Sally frowns

"Lestrade. You never knew him as a copper, did you? Too young…"

"Sorry ma'am. Can't see him as a punk rocker."

Sally laughs.

"He used to be a gnarly bass player. He can probably still do it."

Niamh smiles and sips her gin and ginger.

"My da used to play the bodhrán. In a diddly-diddly band. Weddings, wakes and the like."

"Used to?"

"Probably still does. He left us when I was six. Haven't seen him since. Barely remember him."

"Hard on your mother, being left with a young child."

"Not so as you'd notice. She had Patrick and Timothy half a year later."

"Twins?"

"Yes. And then Colleen. You met Colleen, of course."

"Mm. Four children under ten." Sally frowns. She finds one four-year-old enough of a handful. "Tough life, without a husband."

"Her choice. The twins and Colleen's da moved in for a while, but she likes it better without him."

Niamh takes another large gulp of her drink. Sally smiles

"Take it easy, Niamh. You don't want to get plastered this early in the evening. Wait till the others get here at least."

Niamh grins, stands up to go to the bar.

"I'll just have a ginger ale this round. Shall I get you another white wine?"

Sally nods, puts her coat on Niamh's chair to keep anyone from sitting there.

 

*********

 

"Guinness for me."

Niamh shivers at the soft huff of breath on the back of her neck.

"Are you _old_ enough to drink?"

Micky Jay bridles.

"Nineteen a fortnight ago."

"Why didn't you say something? I would have got you a present. Made a cake…"

Micky scowls.

"I don't celebrate. It's just another day."

Niamh adds a Guinness to her order, then a pint of lemonade and lime for DCI Dimmock and a double scotch for Sherlock as they arrive. She changes her mind, adds a gin to her ginger ale. When she and Micky get back to the table it is more crowded and Sherlock has stolen Niamh's seat by the simple expedient of sitting on Sally's coat. She ends up standing, crowded close to Micky, swaying slightly to the jukebox. The team discuss the case they have just solved, Sherlock explaining some of the more vital deductions again, Dimmock refusing to take credit from Sally and Niamh, who had been key players in the investigation. Dimmock does not stay long; he is on call. Micky shows Niamh a flyer for the Electric Ballroom he had picked up earlier in the day. They have both had just enough to drink to make them think a late night club on a Thursday will be a good idea. They leave Sherlock and Sally discussing a possible lead in a new case.

 

*********

 

"My feet are killing me."

"Should have worn more sensible shoes"

"I was on a case. Had to look the part!"

"The part of a tart…"

"Tart with a heart." Niamh kicks off her shoes, sighs. "I don't know how they do it, night after night."

"They have to. Make a living, I mean. It's hard, being on the streets."

Niamh hears the odd hardness in his voice, leans across to give him a sympathy kiss on the cheek. She is not surprised when he leans into her and turns his head to bring their mouths together.

 

*********

 

She wakes in the early hours, head thumping, mouth dry, in an unfamiliar bed, with an unfamiliar body beside her. She slides out of the bed quietly, goes to the bathroom. In the fluorescent light, it is easy to see the trace of dried blood on her thigh, and a feeling of mild discomfort reminds her of its source.

She panics. She hasn't been saving herself. Not exactly. Just hadn't got round to it yet. Hadn't expected it, not with Micky. Hadn't prepared for it. She washes sketchily, quietly gathers her clothes from the bedroom floor and dresses. Micky is out cold, snuffling a little. As inexperienced as she had been, Niamh could tell it was his first time, too. She wishes it hadn't been. She picks up her handbag and her stupid shoes and lets herself out quietly.

The sound of the door closing wakes Micky from deep sleep. For a moment or two, he is completely disorientated. He gets up and pads, naked, to the kitchen, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and drinks half of it down, wincing at pain in his teeth and forehead. He doesn't need to look around to know that Niamh has gone. He sighs, wishes he had been more experienced, more considerate, more adventurous, more…

He shakes his head, looks for his phone. Sends a text.

*R U OK?*

There is no reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ This ](http://youtu.be/terg_LPT3X0) was the song on the jukebox
> 
>  
> 
> The legal age for drinking in the UK is 18


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micky is worried…  
> Niamh is worried…

"When are you coming back?"

" _Maybe Friday. The course ends on Friday morning, so I could get a train in the afternoon_."

Micky hears the hesitation in Niamh's voice.

"You're not sure, though…"

" _I might stay for the weekend, Mick. I don't need to be at work until Monday._ "

"Oh."

" _Don't sound so disappointed. The longer I can be away from my family the better, as far as I'm concerned_."

"I know. But I've only seen you once since…"

" _Yeah. Look, I've got to go. I'll let you know what's happening._ "

 

*********

 

"Phone's died. I need your charger."

"Wait, I'll sort it out for you. Don't go down my bag…"

Niamh tails off as her fourteen year old sister pulls a narrow cardboard box out of her shoulder bag. Colleen smirks, holding the item aloft.

"What's this then, our Niamh?"

"Put it back," Niamh hisses, "Please, Colleen…"

Colleen smiles. All innocence. All teeth. She raises her voice slightly.

"It's a pregnancy tester. Why have you got a pregnancy tester in your bag, Niamh?"

Niamh freezes. There is no way her mother didn't hear that. She braces herself for the onslaught.

 

*********

 

Sally Donovan spots her in the all-day-breakfast cafe, a pile of local papers beside her plate.

"Something wrong, Niamh?"

"Looking for a flat share. I can't stay at home any longer."

"How soon do you need to move?"

"Yesterday, ma'am."

"That bad, eh? Do you have any friends who could put you up?"

Niamh shakes her head. Sally smiles sympathetically.

"I know someone who might have a room to let out. Here…" she scribbles a phone number on the corner of one of the free newspapers. "Her name's Lettice. Give her a call. Tell her I recommended you."

Niamh tears off the number and puts it in her pocket. "

Thanks, ma'am. Whereabouts is the house?"

"It's a flat. Big place. Modern block just round the corner from Pimlico Station. There's underground parking for your bike, but you'll be able to walk to the Yard. I can't promise she'll take you, though."

 

*********

 

Dimmock gives Micky Jay a hand to climb out of the skip where Sherlock has had him taking photographs of rust patterns for purposes he has not deigned to share.

"Anything useful to me, Micky?"

"Don't know, Mr Dimmock. Sir, is Niamh, I mean DC Fairley, all right? "

Dimmock frowns.

"She hasn't said anything to me. Why?"

Micky tries for nonchalance.

"Haven't seen much of her since we closed the Standish case."

Dimmock sees right through him.

"Blocked your calls? Oh dear…"

Micky sniffs.

"Not blocked. But she's offhand, and she doesn't call me any more. It's been three weeks. I don't know what I've done wrong."

Dimmock pats him on the shoulder.

"I'm not the best person to give love life advice, Micky." He smiles, thinking of his own priorities as a twenty-something. "She's got her sergeant's exams coming up. Maybe she just needs to focus her time and effort on studying."

"Maybe."

 

*********

 

Micky approaches the door slowly, knocks apprehensively.

"Come in."

He pushes the door open, sidles inside.

"How can I help you, Micky?"

"Um. I've got something of Niamh's. I mean, DC Fairley's. I wonder if you could see that it gets to her, please?"

"Why can't _you_ give it to her?"

"I don't know where she is, Inspector Donovan. I went to her house, but her mum told me she'd moved out. Didn't have an address."

Micky does not tell Sally all the other things Niamh's mother had said about her. Does not mention the sneering way her sister had laughed at him, or the threats her twin brothers had made if he didn't leave their sister alone. He isn't _worried_ about threats from sixteen year old boys, even if there are two of them, he knows he can handle himself in a fight, but just being threatened is disturbing.

"Have you two split up? I thought you were on the verge of moving in together a while back."

Sally does not mention that she knows Niamh's new address. Micky sags and sits down.

"She stayed a couple of nights, that's all. She'd had a row with her mum. About her sister, I think. She went back home once she'd cooled off."

Sally purses her lips, frowns.

"You're not an item, then?"

"No. She's never been as keen on me as I have…"

"So what is it you want me to get to her?"

"It's a skirt her sister ruined. She was really upset about it, so I sneaked it out of the rubbish and asked this woman at the cleaners who alters my clothes, she's a seamstress… I asked if she could do anything. I picked it up today. "

Sally smiles.

"Leave it with me. I'll see she gets it."

"I don't suppose…"

Sally shakes her head.

"I can't tell you her address. That's up to her."

 

*********

 

Niamh heaves a sigh of relief and puts down her HB pencil, multiple choice paper completed. It is the final part of her exam. She has had an ominous ache in her belly for half an hour of so, and is starting to cramp, low down. As soon as the group are dismissed, she is out of her seat and running to the ladies' lavatories.

Fifteen minutes later, she bounces down the front steps of Hendon Police College and stops short at the sight of Micky Jay, bundled up in his grey-mauve coat and two scarves, peering over the top of a bunch of Christmas roses and evergreens.

"Hi, Mick. How'd you know…"

"I got promoted. Assistant consulting detective. I detected that you would be finishing your tests today." He frowns. "Expected you to come out ten minutes ago, though. Was beginning to think you might have spotted me and gone out the back way."

"Eejit. Are those for me?"

"Peace offering."

Niamh blushes.

"I've been a bit of a cow to you, haven't I?"

Micky presses his lips together, takes a deep breath through his nose.

"I expect you've been preoccupied."

Niamh takes the offered escape.

"Yes. A bit." She smiles. "I got the skirt. I didn't know you were having that done."

"You were so upset about it. I thought it was worth a try. There wasn't anything to lose."

"It's a brilliant copy. The fabric looks the same…"

"Factory seconds. The print's very slightly off on one of the colours, but it doesn't really show. The factory's supposed to destroy any material with blemishes, but they don't. I didn't tell the seamstress she was making a designer knock-off for a copper."

Niamh giggles.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you tell me. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. It's a present."

"I can't just be taking random presents from you, Mick."

"Birthday present. Last Tuesday, wasn't it? Twenty-two."

"I thought you didn't celebrate birthdays. And how…"

"It's not a religious thing. I just don't bother with my own. And I snooped. That's what detectives do, isn't it? Even if they're only assistants. Have you settled in to your new place?"

"Yes. I'm sharing with two other police women. We've got strict rules not to touch each other's food, clothes or boyfriends. It's heaven. I'm so glad to have moved away from home."

"I went to your house. Your mum's house."

"Why?"

"You were avoiding me. I thought if I dropped the skirt in to you, you might at least talk to me. Your mum wasn't very polite."

"No, I don't suppose she was."

They walk a little way in silence. Micky spots a coffee shop, a small independent, not part of a chain. He pulls Niamh inside, out of the cold. A waitress seats them and takes their order.

"I thought I'd really messed things up."

Niamh takes Micky's hand, squeezes it.

"Your hands are freezing." She doesn't let go. "It was too soon to be doing what we did…"

"I didn't know _what_ I was doing."

"We really made a mess of ourselves."

Micky blushes. Whispers. "I thought… Did I hurt you?"

"No. And it wasn't horrible. I wasn't unwilling. It was good. I just…" She takes a deep breath. " I panicked when I remembered we'd not used a condom or anything. And then my period was late…"

Micky sniffs.

"Your sister said…"

"She found a pregnancy test kit in my bag. I won't deny I was worried for a little while. But I'm not pregnant, Mick. It was a false alarm."

"I would have stood by you."

"I know you would. You're a sweet boy."

"I'm not a boy."

"No. You're a bright young man, with a future ahead of you. Maybe you'll end up as one of only two consulting detectives in the world."

Micky laughs.

"No. There can be only one. I'm thinking of going to college."

"Good for you. What will you study?"

"Anthropology, psychology, biology. Learn about people…" 

"You won't have much time for fun."

"No. But I'll make time for important things."

"Important things?"

"Seeing my girlfriend the detective sergeant, for example."

"I've not had the results yet."

"You'll pass. You're good at your job."

"Thank you for your confidence." She grins. "Girlfriend? I take it your offer to be my date still stands?"

"For the….? Yes. Of course it does."

"All right. I'll have to warn my flatmates to keep their hands off you."


End file.
